Stargate SG29
by Chris7221
Summary: They were supposed to be the best Europe had to offer. A humourous semi-parody set in Seasons 7-8. The best of the best? I think not. More like the worst of each country's military. OC heavy, but you'll like them. Or not.
1. Prologue: Introduction

* * *

Title: Stargate SG-29  
Occurs: Seasons 7-8  
Spoilers: SG-1 Seasons 7/8  
Description: An all-European, international cooperation team sounds like a good idea. Unfortunately, not only did the countries send their most worthless, expendable people, but cultures begin to clash as well. The rest of the SGC doesn't like them either. And the leader is an absolute snob.

Author's Notes: This is probably the first story I semi-planned out. However it _is_ a parody, so some things will be all over the place. There is some racial stereotyping, so those who are easily offended may not like this story. I'm not trying to offend anyone, so don't get the wrong message.

* * *

Prologue: The Best of The Best (?!)

General Hammond is always really stressed out. There were always politicians complaining, new developments on the fate of the world, and people getting killed in increasingly ridiculous ways, not to mention the day-to-day running of the base. But O'Neill had an idea that would hopefully satisfy the politicians. And that would take a lot of pressure of Hammond's back.  
"Why don't we create a team of international people? It'll satisfy the international community, make the politicians happy, and we can laugh at them as they go through culture shock. We won't even have to put them on important missions! They can do the boring jobs that I hate."  
General Hammond, who was half-drunk, half-asleep, and half-baked mumbled, "Yesisisissss, mmmm"

* * *

The next day the cannon fodder- um I mean SG-29 was assembled, despite a plane trip and bureaucratic crap that should have made it take longer. O'Neill surveyed the team. They were lined up, in something resembling standing at attention.  
"I'll start with you, you're the team leader. Colonel Basil Cunningham, SAS, right?"  
"That would be _Sir_ Basil Cunningham to you, Yank." Basil spat the words out with contempt.  
"Oookay then," O'Neill backed away and looked at the next person. A sassy looking Frenchwoman. He once thought women were useless in fighting but then Sam came along, and she was blond. Well if Sam was okay then this Frenchwoman should be okay. Or maybe not. What looked like a makeup compact fell out of her pocket and she fell as she tried to pick it up.  
She got up and said "Major Marie Blanc SIR!" As she saluted she managed to clip O'Neill in the face. If it weren't for the fact that he had to look impressive his face would already be in his palm. He went on to the next person in line.  
O'Neill read his nametag. Lieutenant Hans Schaft. He looked okay. Then suddenly he pulled out a pistol and fired into the air shouting "SEIG HEIL! COLONEL O'NEILL!"  
O'Neill simply backed away into the next person. He came to attention smartly and said "Lieutenant Boris Komarkov reporting for duty, SIR!" He looked alright. Then O'Neill saw that he still had a hammer and sickle on his uniform.  
The last person, Lieutenant Mario Belliarno, was Italian. He was also Mafia, but O'Neill didn't know that. His job was to spy on the military for the Mafia. But he accidentally got posted here. He didn't talk to O'Neill at all.

* * *

Choosing a weapon can be a lengthly process. For Cunningham, it was not. He had brought an L85 rifle, which was a pain to find ammo for.  
For Marie, it was an utter disaster. She kept dropping things, then managed to shoot the range sergeant in the foot. Eventually she selected the smallest and lightest weapon availible, the MP7.  
Hans had an easy time selecting a weapon. He simply searched through the racks, examining each weapon for flaws and testing the quality. Eventually he selected a G36.  
"German built. I see someone likes their home country." stated Cunningham in a very elitist way.  
"And you do not? I see you have taken an L85, derivative of SA80, last in a long line of weapons from Enfield, British built, used since the 1960s."  
Cunningham was left speechless.  
Komarkov already had an AK-47, but had to give it up after searching the entire SGC and finding no ammo. He hung his head in failure and sadness and took an M4 from the silent sergeant.  
Mario Belliarno was a problem. After half an hour of arguing and Italian swearing, he finally gave up his Thompson in favour of an UZI.

* * *

"Ugh, that was boring watching you do that. Now for something exciting."

Just go to the next chapter please.


	2. Episode 1

No notes, this being released alongside the prologue.

* * *

Episode One: Worth Less Than Worthless Escort

* * *

"Alright, listen up. Your first job is to protect some random scientists while they do some random job. There aren't any enemies on that planet, so it'll be easy."  
Cunningham, as always, was snobbish about the whole thing, "Well if there's nothing to protect them from, why bother doing it."  
O'Neill sighed. "Just do it, okay, because nobody else will."  
Cunningham gave in. "Alright fine, but you will be hearing from my superiors."

* * *

"This is incredibly boring." Komarkov told his companion, Belliarno, who just nodded. The team was split into three pairs who were guarding different directions. The scientists were doing scientisty stuff. And Komarkov was bored. He had been on his station for half an hour, watching the dunes for something that would never happen.  
Then he saw it.  
It was a small box, with a lot of wires and some controls. He picked it up. "What does this do?" he asked the scientists.  
One of them responded. "It's a subspace transmitter, for contacting Earth and catalyzing plots when combined with supreme idiocy. Here, you can change the channel with this dial, and turn it on like this, and then talk while holding this button down."  
Komarkov liked his new toy. He played with the buttons awhile, then decided to do something incredibly stupid. He turned the dial to "Goa'uld Channel, do not use!" and started speaking.  
"Hello Goa'uld s_voloch_. I'm sure you've been having fun with your _blyadischa_. _Tebe pizd'ets_, so _zavali yebalo_ and get the _yebatsya_ out of our galaxy. Come and get me, _blyad_!"  
Cunningham was not impressed. "Give me that, you _russki_ moron." He grabbed the transmitter and spoke into it. "Hello, Goa'uld bastard.. I'm sorry if you haven't been told off well enough by that chap, he is inadequate in many ways, and somewhat blinkered. In any case, it's bloody awful down here. Oh yes, you are a horrible alien arsehole. So maybe you should stop faffing around and come down here and get us. Cheerio."  
Just then the scientist came up. "Oh no no no! This transmitter is on and it's set to a Goa'uld channel! They probably heard us! What did you say to them?!"  
"Oh nothing really, just a friendly greeting," said Cunningham.

* * *

About six hours later the spaceship landed. It was just a small Goa'uld cargo ship, landing on the opposite side of the hill. SG-29 was playing card games, and the scientists were busy doing scientist-y stuff so nobody noticed it until it was too late. The Jaffa came and snatched the scientists. Then one of the scientists screamed. SG-29 immediately acted. Or tried to. They tripped over each other as they tried to retreieve their weapons. They managed to get up and raced after the Goa'uld. Cunningham managed to get under the rings as the ship lifted off, pulling poor Hans Schaft with him. He picked up a ring called a Jaffa dropped and the rings activated, putting him and Hans on the ship.

* * *

On the ship, Cunningham immediately jumped for cover, again pulling Schaft with him. The Jaffa shot at them with their staff weapons. Cunningham lobbed a grenade at a Jaffa. The Jaffa picked up the grenade, pulled the pin out, and threw it back. Schaft picked up the grenade, unraveled the piece of wire that held the fly-off handle in, and threw the grenade at the Jaffa, where it exploded. The lead Jaffa shouted somethning in Jaffaese and the Jaffa retreated into the front of the ship, taking the scientists with them.  
Cunningham turned to Schaft, "You, Kraut, land this ship!"  
Schaft gave him a mean look, "It is not that simple, you cannot simply land the ship, not from here."  
Cunningham shot him a look back, "Well take it down somehow."  
Schaft swore in German and removed a panel from the bulkhead, exposing some crystals. "These are the engine control crystals, I can-"  
Cunningham cut him off, pushing him out of the way and shooting the crystals out. The ship began to power down.  
Hans began to panic, "The door, they will come in and kill us!"  
Cunningham, "Well maybe they shouldn't have left us in here, plot elements like that always work out." He shot out the door controls.  
Hans panicked agiain, "You stupid British idiot, we will die in the crash too!"  
Sir Basil Cunningham, SAS, was not impressed, "Why didn't you tell me that? I thought shooting out those essential controls for the engines which decelerate the ship would make a nice landing!"  
Hans panicked some more, "_Schizer_! You retard, shooting out the controls will only make the ship crash! And I DID tell you! Now shut up so I can save us both!"  
Cunningham decided to be a hero. "Figure it out, I'll go save the scientists."  
The ship was beginning to really shake now. "Hurry up Colonel, you only have about 30 seconds!"  
Cunningham forced the door open slightly, tossed a grenade in, and waited. After a lot of Jaffaese chattering, there was an explosion. Cunningham forced the door open all the way.  
For no real reason, the scientists were alive but the Jaffa were all dead. Cunningham dragged them onto the ring platform, where Hans panicly mashed the buttons on the control panel.

* * *

"Look, it's a meteor!" All of SG-29 turned their heads and watched. Two seconds before the "meteor" hit the ground, the rings activated and Hans Scaft and Basil Cunningham appeared, with all three scientists.  
"Well that was entertaining, but we better go now. We leave in thirty minutes. My my, I did such a nice job." said Cunningham to the others.

* * *

"You wanted to see me, General?" Hans Schaft asked. He was very nervous.

"Yes. According to Colonel Cunningham's official report, he had to drag you from the front compartment onto the rings after fighting twenty Jaffa off with only combat knife. Yet according to your report there were six Jaffa, who retreated to the forward compartment after you threw a grenade at them. Also according to your report, Cunningham shot out the control crystals, in his official report he cleverly hacked the system. Now which one is the truth?"

"I realize this may be hard for you to grasp General," Schaft said, "but Cunningham is a snobbish liar who thinks he is smarter than he really is. His story is not true. He threw a grenade without pulling the pin. He assumed that shooting out the control crystals would simply cause the ship to land. To use British terms, he is 'a daft bodger'"

"Thank you Lieutenant, that will be all. Actually wait. I want you to write a report on Cunningham's performance every mission. I want to know everything that he says, does, even thinks if you can tell me. Understand?"

"Yes sir." With that, Schaft left.

* * *

New episode coming soon. If you are sensitive do not search the Russian words. Please review if you liked or hated.


	3. Episode 2

Episode 2: Who's The Spy?

* * *

A lot shorter than I would have liked, but I just wanted to finish this after finding it lonely in a barren folder in the depths of my E drive. In other words, I just wanted it done. Might be good, might be crap, and I didn't proofread.

SG-29 is tasked to set up a random outpost, or something. O'Neill just wants them off the base, because they're trouble everywhere.

* * *

"Because your performance was so good, we've decided to give you another pointless mission- oh I mean we're going to give you a real mission," briefed O'Neill. "Your job is to set up a pointless little outpost on this worthless little planet. I don't know why. The only plausible reason at all, let me warn you this is a cliche, is to catalyze a plot. Meaning something is going to happen. So you'll have to be careful. Anyway, the stuff is waiting in the gateroom. Bye."

The planet was indeed small and pointless. The gate was in a temperate area, in an open grass field. Cunningham was happy because he FINALLY got a Humvee to drive through the gate. Amazingly nobody had done it before. That Cunningham was the first pleased him greatly. Cunningham looked at his map. He turned it round and round and couldn't figure it out. So he drove the Humvee in circles until he decided to just set up in front of the gate.

As the team was unpacking various crates and things, Cunningham discovered something new. American ammunition magazines fit in his L85! Amazed by his discovery, he proceeded to act extremely out of character and tell Hans. "Hey, kraut, look what I found out! These Yankee magazines will fit in my weapon."  
Hans just shrugged, "Ja, it is NATO STANAG magazine, will fit most NATO weapons of 5.56 millimeter caliber."  
Cunningham backed off. "Hey, you chaps, let us put together the main shelter."

Throughout construction, Cunningham routinely harassed Marie. Firstly, she was French, which alone made her a form of life only slightly higher than a slug in Cunningham's books. Secondly, she was a woman, which in Cunningham's opinion meant she should stay at home. The fact that she proved herself to be incredibly clumsy only reinforced his conclusions. She continually dropped screws, bolts, nails, and even a makeup compact. She was also wearing _those damn gloves_. Despite the fact that half of the team was wearing the gloves (Mil spec 191A, black, leather, 12"), including Cunningham, it still was an excuse to harass her. Everything and anything was. Things finally came to a climax when she bumped Hans.

"Damn it!" Hans had dropped several screws on the ground, some of which rolled under the floor of the building being constructed. One rolled in front of Komarkov, who stealthily pocketed it. Hans was in the process of attaching one of the side walls, working with Komarkov. "Damn it, I needed those!"  
Cunningham picked up a random box of screws. "Here, Kraut, have your bloody screws."  
"I cannot use these, I need number 6-32 1 inch machine screws, these are clearly #8 wood screws, 1 and 1 quarter inches long. They are incorrect."  
Basil didn't want to deal with a whiney Kraut. A screw is a screw. "Here, I'll do it." He picked up a hammer in one hand and held the screw in the other. Then he hammered the screw, missing the hole and punching his own in the sheet metal.  
"See, Kraut? They bloody well work."

Oberleutnant Hans Schaft began trying to find his lost screws.

* * *

"Well done old chaps, I think we've build a solid structure." Cunningham tapped the building. It shook, then the walls collapsed inwards and the roof fell down.  
"Gentlemen, we have been sabotaged."  
"No, you are just too incompetent to build a proper structure. This is incompetence, not sabotage," snorted Hans.  
"I'll be the judge of that," snorted Cunningham. He walked down the line of men- and one woman, he reminded himself. "It's obviously the Communist. After all, only a communist is stupid- no, naive, enough to try that with me in charge."  
"It could have been the German. He is evil, after all." said a high-pitched voice, presumable but not actually Marie.  
"Hmmm, possibly. But I do think it was the communist. Vladimir-"  
"BORIS COMRADE!"  
"Oh, because that's just so much less a stereotype. Well, O'Neill would not be happy to find a spy in our midst. You're lucky it's time for afternoon tea. After that, we'll go back to proclaim the mission a success.  
"There is one more thing, though..."

The screams shook the trees and carried across the hills, and the look on the Commie's face was priceless.

* * *

Hope you enjoyed this chapter! It's been sitting around for ages and I just wanted to finish it. It's up to your imagination what Cunningham did to Boris. The next chapter will be SGU-bashing in an obtuse and hopefully humorous way. As always, please review, and slam as much as you would like.


	4. Episode 3

Episode 3: Common Ground

SGU-bashing time. This episode is a whole lot of nothing, human drama, racial slurs, and where the fuck did the Italian go? That was the original plan, anyway. When I went to write it, it turned out a lot differently.

* * *

The man was gasping for breath, pounding his bare feet against the wet pavement. He had to get away. Away from them- he shuddered. Sleeping with one of the many wives of a certain Islamic terrorist wasn't such a good idea, was it? But she was so damn seductive. And just plain _hot_. He was sure his Mafia connections could protect him, but he had to get away first.

Without warning, a black sedan suddenly came flying by. A Heckler and Koch MP-5 submachine gun can be fired in single, three shot burst, or full auto mode, and has a magazine capacity of thirty nine-millimeter rounds. In this case, each of the two men in the car had his gun on full auto and drained his entire clip.

Most of the rounds missed. Only five hit the man. One hit him in the left shoulder, one in the right hip, and one went through his right leg, smashing the fibula. Those were painful but did not kill the man. Another bullet went into his stomach, through the intestine, and out the back. It would have killed him without immediate treatment, but it was not the killing round. The last bullet went through the man's heart, which caused him to collapse in a pool of blood and die of blood loss and cardiac arrest in less than a minute.

An hour later a homeless drunk came by, wandering around in search of alcohol. Upon seeing the body, he decided in his mostly-sober state to call the police. He left no name or number, only the location of the body. The police and an ambulance were dispatched, since it must be attempted to revive a person until a doctor pronounces him dead. The police car arrived first. The officer performed CPR, but he knew it was pointless. The man was long dead. The ambulance arrived a mere minute later, where the paramedics loaded him in and made a token effort to revive the man with oxygen and a defibrillator. They also knew it was pointless.

Half an hour later, in hospital, a doctor pronounced him dead. By this time the police had identified the body as Lieutenant Mario Belliarno, Esercito Italiano, aged 35. The police officer sighed. He had quite a large family to contact, and he was Italian, which meant a lot of paperwork.

* * *

"Where the bloody hell has that Italian got to?!"  
"Maybe he sleep with pretty woman, who turned out to be married to Islamic terrorist, who had him shot on street, perhaps." Boris smiled inwardly. It was nice to have connections. If only they had done it to the right guy.  
Hans stepped into the room. "I found out about Italian member. He was shot yesterday. Apparently he slept with the wife of an Islamic terrorist, who had him shot."  
"Oh, well that takes care of that. He was inconsequential anyway." Cunningham left, muttering something about Russian psychics, someone named Uri or Yuri, and Stalin.

* * *

Boris had many things to be angry about. Cunningham was an evil bastard, his connections couldn't shoot the right guy, and he just found out that Hans had been sleeping with his Irina. Russians are not known for a calm temper.

"Hans, you bastard, you _facisti_ bastard!"  
"What do you mean?"  
"You sleep with Irina? _Yob tvoyu maht_!"  
Hans had studied Russian briefly. In that time he had learned to find the bathroom, say that the mountain was blue at noon and the goat had three fingers, and swear. "Okay, I sleep with Irina. So what? Let's face it, she LIKED it!"  
"We're married, you German son of dogs!"  
"It's _son of a bitch_, dumbass-" he had learned both from an American he went to university with- "and you could NEVER provide the _pleasure_ I gave her."  
Boris Komarkov had enough. He slammed his fist into Hans' face, breaking his nose and sending blood flying. On his way down, Hans lashed out with his foot, connecting with Boris' left shin. Boris limped out of the room muttering something about Hitler.

* * *

Marie was disappointed. Hans hadn't showed up for his date. She sat alone in the French-styled (though it didn't seem very French to her) cafe. She sipped at her (disgustingly weak and burnt) coffee, and was about to leave when Boris came in. Not knowing of her prior arrangement with Hans, Boris decided to try his luck on her. Alley dwellers were so nice in this country. He had a small vial of something called "date rape", which was a totally free sample. The former KGB agent was sure it would suit his purposes.

Three hours later, Marie and Boris checked into a hotel room. Six hours after that, Marie woke up confused and disoriented. She had no idea why she was in a hotel room, handcuffed to the headboard, with a chair pulled up to the bed. She had no idea what happened last night, or for that matter the night before. She felt a burning pain on her left forearm and there was blood one the bed. Marie screamed then twisted, sending jolts of pain up her arm. She looked into the garbage can, where she saw a small vial, a pair of dirty latex gloves, and a bloody knife. On the desk was a sealed container of acid. She didn't know this, but Boris was thankful he didn't need to use it. Marie, after all, was a pretty woman after all. Marie just laid there, wondering why the cord was pulled out of the bedside lamp. She screamed again as the memories started coming back.

* * *

"So they found her in a hotel room, with a cut on her arm, a vial of date rape in the garbage can. Are you sure there is no evidence of rape?"  
"None, and not much torture was necessary either. She's what we would call easily breakable."  
Basil Cunningham and Boris Komarkov both laughed. They had found common ground. They also had no idea what the other was thinking, and they weren't about to tell each other either.

* * *

As you can see, this chapter/episode turned out way different than originally intended. Still fairly inconsequential, but more exciting than planned. I alternated writing styles, and the spy stuff comes from reading too much Tom Clancy. Next chapter- a threat and a new team member.


	5. Episode 4

Episode 4: Politika

This episode is a loose parody of an actual SG-1 episode. If you get the reference, good. If not, it's still plenty understandable.

* * *

"Basically, the IOA has been putting on some pressure to reorganize a few of the teams, and unfortunately yours is one of them." O'Neill was never one to sugarcoat the truth.  
"Bloody hell! They want to disband SG-29!" Cunningham was suddenly outraged.  
"Well-"  
"Hear that! We're going on a suicide last mission!"  
O'Neill sighed. There was just no stopping these idiots.  
"With your permission of course, sir."  
"You have a go." O'Neill went back to clicking his pen as SG-29 talked about tactics and which planet to strike.

* * *

Cunningham had a sophisticated exterior, but a simple mind inside. His plan was to load his team up with the new experimental anti-staff-weapon armor (Siler wasn't dead yet, was he?), heavy weapons, and as many grenades as they could carry. The Goa'uld outpost was in a valley. His plan was to bombard it with grenades, rush in with guns ablaze, and take out the ships with C4.

Thankfully, the Stargate was close to the base. As in right in the middle of it. Cunningham wasn't worried. If those flimsy little plates worked for Siler, they would work for him. He ordered his team to dash recklessly through the gate.

Boris was first through the Stargate. Upon realizing that they were in the middle of a Goa'uld outpost, he immediately dashed towards the treeline. The rest of the team followed suit, but Hans was hit by a staff weapon blast. He was knocked down and got up, only to be hit twice more. As discreetly as possible he asked for covering fire on his radio, and was shot again for doing so. Assuming he was dead, Cunningham chose to ignore him.

"Okay lads, let's stick with the plan. On my mark, start the nade spamming... NOW!"

The Goa'uld looked up as small green balls started raining down and exploding. Unfortunately, Cunningham accidentally grabbed training grenades, which have only a small explosive charge. The grenades emitted harmless puffs of smoke. Meanwhile, Hans slowly dragged himself up the hill toward the treeline.

And that's when Cunningham gave the order to fire. Despite a lack of accurate aiming, the machine-gun fire did significantly more damage. It lanced through the useless armor of the Jaffa, smashed down buildings, and plinked off the ship sitting in the middle of the clearing.

When the firing stopped Hans surveyed the scene. Marie was bowled over from the recoil, and Boris was knocked back several feet. Boris was smart enough to use the bipod, and he was in basically the same spot. Jaffa bodies lay everywhere, and the weak structures were mostly knocked down. But this was not the large, important Goa'uld outpost. It was small, and there was only one Al'kesh, no Ha'tak ship. There weren't many Jaffa at all. Hans sighed. Cunningham had screwed up again.

* * *

"Well old chap, don't you think we did wonderfully?"  
"You moron! What is wrong with you? Do you think that because you're British you are always right? Or are you just a supreme idiot regardless of race."  
"Is that insubordination, _Lieutenant_?"  
"If you were as smart as you say, you would know that!"

At this point, Cunningham decided that enough was enough. He smashed his fist into Hans' forehead, knocking him out.  
"Come on, help me bury him. Poor bastard didn't live."  
"But-" objected the Russian.  
"If you breathe a word of this, well, you won't want to live anymore." threatened Cunningham. It shut Boris up.

* * *

"All right, we've planted C4, we've buried poor Hans, and we've rounded up the last of the Jaffa and sent them back to their homeworld. I think we can go back now." Cunningham dialed the gate.

* * *

"So, how did the mission go?" asked O'Neill.  
"Not so good sir. Hans was killed in action-"  
"Where's the body?"  
"He.. uh, was disintegrated by the staff weapons. It must be a new kind, or something."  
"Right... is that it?"  
"Yes sir."  
"Good. And please tell SG-3 to meet me in the briefing room."

* * *

"Okay, let me get this straight. They buried Hans alive, forgot the set off the C4, and it turned out that it was a _rebel_ Jaffa camp?!"  
"I'm afraid so sir."  
"Get Cunningham up here. Now."

* * *

SG-29 was lounging in a random storage room. Of course, even during off-hours they managed to cause trouble. Stored in this room were two virtual reality pods from P7J-989. Unfortunately, one of the team (probably Cunningham) had broken off part of the pod.

"What do mean? I certainly did not do it. If anything that bloody German did it. I should have left him to die."  
"You did leave me to die. And you broke it too."  
Boris, who was tired of the arguing, decided to intervene. "It doesn't matter who did it. We have to find way to fix it, or make it look not broken."  
"Well, if I had a laptop, and some tools, maybe that probing device from P4X-242 I could fix it."  
"No time for that! O'Neill is coming!" whispered Marie, who was standing by the door.  
Cunningham decided to just snap the same piece off the other pod so it wouldn't be noticed missing, and pocketed the two pieces. Curious, he asked Hans what they were for.  
"Safety interlocks. They allow you to turn off and safely disconnect the person in the pod. I believe they are also responsible for regulating-"  
"O'Neill's here!"

* * *

"While I was sincerely hoping to get rid of you guys, unfortunately that's not going to happen, and never was going to happen. You see, the IOA never wanted to disband SG-29. In fact, they wanted to expand it. You'll be getting three new team members- one Chinese, one Japanese, and one Australian. Also, Dr. Schaft will be transferring out, onto a different team where he can be more useful. The Chinese and Australian team members are on there way. The Japanese one is here already. Please welcome Hiroshi Sato. Hopefully you guys will be able to work together better."

The members of SG-29 all looked at each other. An _Asian_?

* * *

Hoped you like the ending! This chapter felt more forced and wasn't as easy to write, because by this time I was kind of tired of writing, having wrote two chapters in under an hour.


	6. Episode 5

Short, I know.

* * *

"Well, our mission is to save Earth, obviously."  
"I know that," replied the Asian.  
"Sure you did. Now, the specifics of the mission. We go in, we blow stuff up and kill stuff, and leave."  
"That is hardly... specific."  
"Well, since the gate is already dialling, we should just ad-lib it as you Americans would say."  
The Asian shrugged his shoulders and a puzzled look crossed his face. He hoped the British man knew what he was doing.

* * *

Predictably, he didn't. As soon as they were through the gate, they were surrounded. Staff weapons charged as Jaffa leapt out of the bush.  
"NO SURREN-" Basil promptly shut up the Asian.  
"WE SURRENDER! PLEASE DON'T KILL US!"

* * *

"Well, it's been a year, and we haven't been rescued. I don't think we ever will." The Asian sighed.  
"What are you talking about? Of course we will!" Basil hadn't lost his resolve (which he never had to begin with).  
"The ending was horribly unsatisfying and incredibly rushed. They are obviously going to make a movie which is okay, and make another better one. Then create a terrible spinoff series."  
"Now why didn't _I_ think of that?!"

* * *

Well, that was too short but at this point I just want to end this and get on to other projects. And the "terrible spinoff series" is Universe, not Atlantis. Atlantis is pretty good IMO. Possibly coming soon: Project Halogate.


End file.
